Within the walls of these poems are the spells of bodies - full of bruises, phantom threads,
circus songs, the tangible weight of desire.
Occult dreams free from council approval.
This is the true architecture of poetry,
a house of soft bones where we can finally inhabit
the shell we carry." - David Stavanger
Prose poetry book
This book of prose poetry has been critically acclaimed by some ghosts and boo-ed by other ghosts. So, all in all my major fan base has been loving it.
It is a book of the fool. It is where the fool takes off on her journey through the vagaries of sex, dream, drugs, music, and fleeting relationships.
Carapace is the longing for home--for a protective shell--it's so delicate and inside she is very soft. Carapace is also the exoskeleton of the personality she wants to break--to reach beyond to the everything.
Carapace is the experimenting powers of the girl-child becoming the hermit crab, the bisexual androgynous magician, finding succor in music, in books, in temporal arms--briefly even in words.
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waking the witch
The song on my front page uses the 'lyrics' from this poem, which you can also be found under the section 'Vision'
Waking the witch House
As naked as a worm,
with wings closed and a chocolate brown exterior.
This species of house is found high on the only hill in suburbia.
Last spring
it was without the blithe motion of the
girl who would come to inhabit its mysteries,
to hurtle her famous curiosity at its underside
and discover the tremendous larva of bright yellow records played in surround sound,
flowerheads of books, wary pantries of discretionary jars—soldiers in the coming apocalypse.
The girl is flying close to the flowers,
she is a hidden female only visible to male insomniacs, singing in her rust-coloured voice like Patti Smith,
hurtling towards metamorphosis—a soft pressure of childhood searching for a place to emerge into womanhood.
